


Dancing with the Right Partner

by LucyFlawless



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Awesome Sam Wilson, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Dancing, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Natasha Feels, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Natasha Needs a Hug, POV Steve Rogers, Spy Stuff, Steve Rogers-centric, Veterans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:37:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1958709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucyFlawless/pseuds/LucyFlawless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for sedna_51 on Twitter. Steve and Sam are road tripping across the US looking for Bucky when Natasha joins them and drags them out for some dancing. Steve doesn't dance and just sits and overthinks it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing with the Right Partner

**Author's Note:**

> I have written fanfic that isn't totally silly or bonkers, so this was a fun diversion. Sedna_51 wanted FREEBIRD, but I threw in Natasha for free because I love her.

Sam yelps while Steve’s washing up in their hotel room bathroom, so he ends up running out with his wet hands up like a Ken doll, the water still running in the sink.

“Hey Steve,” said Natasha, as she hangs upside down just outside their window. Sam is sitting on the bed, half in shock and half in anger, his hand to his chest.

“Look,” he says through careful breath exercises, “who I found.”

“Natasha,” said Steve warningly as he goes to the hotel closet and wipes his hands on the towel. “What are you doing there?”

“I can’t visit my favorite buddy road trip comedy?” she said, as she dropped onto their balcony like a cat. She does…something…to the window, and slips in, easy.

“It’s going to be a horror movie if you keep appearing like that,” said Sam. She laughs and squeezes his shoulder. To Sam’s credit, he returns the smile and gives her a quick one-armed hug.

Steve’s mouth twitched. “You could knock. Or at least just text me.”

“I did text you,” she said, in a slightly whiny voice as she plops down in a chair, kicking off her absurd sneakers. “You didn’t text me back!” She pulls off her socks and props her feet up on the bed, nudging Sam out the way with her bare foot. As Steve watches, Sam tickles it. Her toes curl and she pokes him back.

Steve wants to grab Nat’s feet, throw them off the bed, and take their place. “What kind of text is this?” he says with more fury than needed, brandishing his newly bought iPhone with her latest message, all emojis: boat fish frog heart.

“I think it’s obvious,” says Natasha, looking at Sam. “Right?”

“Oh, totally,” said Sam, nodding.

“It’s almost poetic, right?”

“I’ve really admired your past work, too.” Natasha brightens as Sam continues. “Party hat broomstick banana? Amazing.”

Steve just glares at both of them. “One day I will understand emojis,” he vows, not entirely joking, even while their smiles hold back laughter. “And you will both be sorry.”

“Applesauce thumbs up?” says Natasha, looking over coolly to Sam.

“Lightning strike teacup,” says Sam solemnly, nodding. They both turn to Steve and then actually do collapse in laughter.

“Your – you – ” Nat says, pointing at his expression. Steve scoffs and looks away, which only makes them laugh harder. He glares at the back of their heads, ducked in glee. He knows he should be happy that two of the people he cares about most in the world are getting along. But he’s agitated. And it’s not because they’re teasing him – secretly, he loves the teasing, especially from Nat. It reminds him of Bucky’s quips and rejoinders, his bread and butter after his mom died.

But do they have to flirt so obviously in front of him?

“Natasha,” he says sharply. “Why are you here?”

“I needed to see you.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Did you have news about Fury? Bucky?” he whispers the last word. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sam look intently at Natasha, suddenly serious.

“No,” she said, and to his surprise all of a sudden she looks very small, barefoot and dressed in the same hoodie she hid in back in that mall only a few months ago. It’s gone in the next second, but he still steps forward and hugs her. He sits next to Sam on the bed and looks at her more seriously.

“Must be hard being yourself after so long as a spy.”

Natasha makes a loud noise and slumps in her chair like a sullen teenager, shirt riding up her stomach and her feet poking into Sam’s arm, which makes the man laugh. Steve, momentarily nonplussed, resists the urge to scold her.

“It’s awful. It’s so hard, being me. You don’t even know.”

“I imagine it’s pretty amazing,” said Sam, moving his arm out of the way of Natasha’s legs, but giving them a squeeze.

“It’s haaaard,” she said, her voice going full-on whine. “I don’t liiiiike it.” She frowns, overemphasizing her features. Biologically she and he are barely a year apart, but it’s times like this he really feels the seventy year age difference.

“It’ll get better,” said Sam, before Steve could say anything. Which is great, because he has no idea to react to Nat’s reaction to her existential crisis. “When you get time to do what you want for no other reason than your own enjoyment, it’s like there’s air in your lungs for the first time.”

Natasha sits up straighter. “It’s hard, though.” She draws her knees up to her chest. “It’s hard to…”

“To know what you want?” asked Sam. Natasha shakes her head. Steve’s impressed – even if Nat is closer to them than most people, perhaps only barring Clint, he’s never seen her so easy.

“To want more,” she said, her voice tinged with -- Steve struggles to pinpoint the emotion. “To want everything, and nothing, at once,” she whispers.

It's shame. That’s what she's feeling. Steve’s heart drops a bit, but it’s Sam who reaches out a hand. Nat grabs it.

“Jeez, Falcon,” says Nat. “You take this pararescue thing seriously.” She grins lopsidedly and they all laugh. As Steve laughs, he catches Sam’s eye and grins wider. He’s seen Sam open up a couple people along their trip, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t incredibly impressed every time he does it. He still remembers their conversation at the VA. Even if Nat was a spy, she couldn’t get him to see that he might not want to be in the army anymore.

“Didn’t know you guys stayed in the same room,” said Nat, looking at the twin beds.

“It’s more efficient,” said Steve, giving her a hard look. Her look is equally steely.

“Are you staying nearby?” he asked.

Natasha raises her eyebrows and smiles brightly.

“Nat—“

“Actually…”

Sam laughs and Steve rolls his eyes with a small smile.

“Alright,” says Steve. “You can take my bed.”

“No, you can take my bed,” says Sam. “Or, you know, if you two—”

“Boys, no need to trip over each other being gentlemenly!” says Natasha, although Steve can see she’s amused. “We’ll push the beds together. Sleepover!”

“Well, are you sleeping in that?” said Steve. “Need to borrow a shirt?”

“You’re going to bed now?” said Natasha, in shock.

“Yeah. What?” He said, at her face.

“It’s 10 PM.”

“We need to get up early to make it to the next checkpoint.” He and Sam had been visiting SHIELD operations that had been slowly shown to have Hydra ties. After the first one was bombed out in a very familiar Wintery way, they wanted to get to one before Bucky did.

“Come on, Steve. Don’t you want to go out? Paint the town red, white, and blue?”

“No, Nat, I don't.” Steve stood up and looked down at the woman authoritatively. “And that is not negotiable.”

Later at the bar next to the hotel, Steve asks Sam, “Should I get a drink if I’m not going to get drunk?”

“Do you like the taste of anything?”

“Not really,” he admitted. He watches as Natasha fiddled with the jukebox, trying to pick a song among a selection of what Sam told him was called “reggaeton.” Combined with the ghoulish Mexican Halloween type of theme, Steve wonders if this counts as “cultural appropriation,” as Tumblr calls it.

“Gin and tonics are fine,” says Sam, shrugging. “I mean, they’re not great for kissing afterwards, but –”

“STEEEEVE,” says Natasha, who’s had five shots of vodka in the past fifteen minutes. “SAAAAAAM. Come dance with MEEEEEE!” she trills, as her song of choice suddenly blasts.

“Kissing?” says Steve abruptly. “Who said….” Sam wonders over to Natasha. “Kissing?” he murmurs again, this time to himself.

Natasha and Sam are dancing now, Natasha bobbing up and down like she’s the sexiest thing ever – and she is very sexy, says an awed part of his brain. But Sam – whose moves are smoother, trickier, put him in awe – is sexier, says the rest of him, and that’s it, that’s what he’s been avoiding. His chest aches again, that open-hearted pain as he watches the two move against each other.

He’s grateful neither of them pushed him to dance, but he wants to dance with Sam. Dancing with Nat is a special type of torture because she knows exactly how anxious he can get when she moves against him – but dancing with Sam would be warm. Kinder.

He sighs, heavy and long. “So serious,” he knows Peggy would say. He wished he’d taken the dance when he had it, but he thinks of Peggy’s family and how she was surrounded by that warmth and kindness. He remembered her husband among the Howling Commandos. He loved and respected him, and was happy Peggy loved him too.

Here, now, he wishes at least his two friends weren’t the ones looking at each other. At least he never had to deal with Bucky and Peggy – fonduing. He chuckles as he sips his seltzer. No, he thinks, that was Howard. A special kind of pain, he remembers, when two people – both of whom give you a special warmth in your chest – seem to be making eyes at each other.

His mouth going dry, like it is now. His heart sinking, trying to accept the fact that he had to let two people go at once. Trying to ignore his feelings, which, if he’s honest with himself, completely dominate who he is in the first place.

“Hey,” says Sam, looking slick with sweat, as he walks over. “Why so serious?”

“I – ” He stands up straighter as Natasha runs over and grabs both their arms, swinging them with a huge grin on her face. Sam keeps his eyes on him. “You okay?”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s nothing. You want something else to drink?”

“Come dance,” coos Natasha, moving up towards him and ghosting her lips against his cheek. He smiles and squeezes her hand, but shakes her head. “No, I don’t want to interrupt you two,” he says. “You make a fine pair.”

She makes an exasperated noise. “FINE.” Turning to Sam, she lets go of Steve’s hand. “Ready for another round?”

“You bet I –” he gets out as she jerks him back to the dance floor.

 

Fifteen to eighteen rounds of dancing later – Steve can’t tell if one of those songs was actually ten minutes long or three separate songs or Natasha playing it again and again – Steve’s carrying Natasha bridal style back to the hotel.

“Whee! This is so much more fun when we’re not being bombed!” She’s still awake, only just tipsy it seems. Russians.

When Sam goes to open the hotel door, she gives a play-by-play. “Will Wilson get the door open? Nope! Not that time! He has one more chance – go for it! I believe in you, Sam!” She whoops when he opens the door for them. “Will Rogers carry Romanoff over the threshold? Yes! Captain America, ladies and gentlemen.”

She looks at Steve. “I gotta pee.” Sam bursts into peals of laughter as Steve obligingly sets her down and she runs into the bathroom.

She takes her time, and Steve gets a chance to grin at Sam. “You certainly know how to dance.”

“I could teach you sometime,” says Sam, grinning his crooked grin that Steve likes so much.

“Oh, what, you think Captain America can’t dance?”

“Oh, I’ve seen those old propaganda videos,” says Sam, leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door. “Captain America can barely read his lines off his shield.”

“Lines? You think I read lines?!”

“You’re a terrible liar, Steve,” says Sam, laughing, and Steve feels that magnetic tug, the one he would sometimes feel at the most inopportune moments with Peggy, like when she was carrying a machine gun. He steps closer to Sam, on the other side of the bathroom door, and that’s when Natasha bursts out of the bathroom.

“Boys! You can’t prepare a bed for a lady?”

“I don’t see any ladies here,” said Sam as he followed Steve to the beds, which earned him a swat on the shoulder.

As Steve and Sam pushed the beds together, Natasha unzipped her hoodie. She was kicking off her jeans by the time they were done, and did…something…to her shirt, and before Steve could figure out what happened, she’d thrown her bra on the ground. She bounced on one of the bed, rolled to the middle, and fell dead asleep in her Black Widow tank top (where did she even find that?) and thong.

“Jesus, Natasha,” said Steve, avoiding looking at the tiny woman’s prostrate form. He grabs a blanket from the hotel room closet and covers her.

“Who knew Black Widow snored?” said Sam, chuckling.

“She’s almost as bad as you,” said Steve.

Sam made a noise of indignation and has that look of shock Steve always seems to incite in his friends. Why are they always surprised when he makes a joke? “Oh, I’m paying for that dance comment, aren’t I?”

“Now why would I do that, soldier?” said Steve, grinning. “Sorry about…Nat,” said Steve. “I wasn’t expecting...”

“It’s fine. I’ve seen it a couple times at the VA. It’s the ones that know not to drink too much when they get discharged, but they still want a couple nights to get a little reckless.” He goes to the bathroom to wash up before sleep. “At least she knew to come to you.”

“To us,” Steve corrects, sitting on the bed. He washes up too, and soon they’re both under the covers, Natasha’s form cuddled between the two.

He stares at the ceiling. Usually he and Sam stay up talking, but it seems rude to do that with Natasha here. Plus, he knows she’s a light sleeper. He wants to keep their discussions private.

“Good night, Sam.”

“Night, Cap.”

Steve wakes up with a jolt in the middle of the night, Natasha’s eyes right in front of his, piercing his own. A few seconds later, he blinks.

“Steve,” she says. She seems completely alert and sober, which makes Steve’s lips twitch, but he resists giving her the satisfaction of the smile.

His voice still carries remnants of whimsy when he answers, “Natasha.”

“Steve,” she sighs. “Steve, Steve, Steve.” His heart sinks. Peggy was right when she said he has no idea how to talk to women, but he knows their disappointment when he hears it.

“Do you want to fuck me?” she says simply.

His eyes widen and he goes, “Uh, I—”

“Do you want to fuck Sam?”

This time he is completely speechless, as the air leaves his lungs.

“Don’t worry, he’s out like a light,” she says. He wonders if she had actually fallen straight to sleep when she had, or pretended to. “And I won’t tell. You know I can keep a secret.”

Steve looks away. “I don’t want to come between you two.” He feels her hand touch his cheek, and he looks up to her sideways smile, the one for when he’s surprised her to her delight.

“He said that to me last night, too,” she says, rubbing her thumb against Steve’s cheekbone. “When I explained, he said, “If I were you I’d take him in a heartbeat.”

Steve’s brain scrambles and fills up with static, the kind that comes on the radio between stations.

“And technically, I’m the one between you two,” she said, brightly. Steve laughs, a little too high pitched, not sure what else to do.

Steve shook his head. “He’s so different from me. He’s better. Smarter, kinder–”

She looks pensive. “No, you’re the same. You know: Good, strong. Sweet. But you come at it from different angles.” She smiles. “He’s not faster, though. You’ll be waiting forever if you wait on him.”

Steve doesn’t remember drifting back off to sleep, but he reaches an arm out and there’s just Sam’s hand. His fingers graze it, but when he opens his eyes, he sees Sam looking at him.

“Hi, Cap,” Sam whispers. Steve wonders if Sam got a similar talking to from Nat.

“Sam,” says Steve. Sam watches him approach with a softness in his eyes, and shuts them, like a cat, when Steve reaches over to touch Sam’s cheek. He slowly rubs his thumb along the other man’s beard and gets Sam to look him in the eyes.

What the hell, Steve thinks. His first life was too short. He’s not wasting this one.

 

While staking out the rooftop of the Hydra facility and searching for flashes of metal arms, Natasha gets a text.

STEVE ROGERS: *thumbs up*

"Pffft. Bet he copied and pasted that. Punk."


End file.
